


Remedy

by owl_coffee



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Asthma, Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Don't try these at home, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-typical asthma remedies, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 09:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15069806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owl_coffee/pseuds/owl_coffee
Summary: Steve's halted, clinging onto a lamp-post, tries to speak reassurance. "S'OK," he manages. "Just - need - a minute." There's nowhere to sit down, here, so he just leans against the post heavily.Bucky scrubs a hand through his hair, purses his lips. "Shit. You uh, you hold tight there a minute and I'll find you some help, okay?" He clumsily helps Steve to wrap the scarf belatedly around his mouth, but it's not good enough. Steve can still feel his throat closing up.He can't collapse here in the snow. He just can't, it would be so embarrassing.Bucky tries different remedies for Steve's asthma.





	Remedy

**Coffee.**  
  
It was Steve's own fault. He'd been laughing with Buck about some dumb joke, on their way out of the subway station, and forgot to wrap the scarf around his face again fast enough. One lungful of the freezing winter air was enough to set him off. Steve stops talking, tries to tough it out and keep walking along, but a moment later sees him stagger and slow down.  
  
"And then the dame says - oh shit, Steve, you okay?"  
  
Steve's halted, clinging onto a lamp-post, tries to speak reassurance. "S'OK," he manages. "Just - need - a minute." There's nowhere to sit down, here, so he just leans against the post heavily.  
  
Bucky scrubs a hand through his hair, purses his lips. "Shit. You uh, you hold tight there a minute and I'll find you some help, okay?" He clumsily helps Steve to wrap the scarf belatedly around his mouth, but it's not good enough. Steve can still feel his throat closing up.  
  
He can't collapse here in the snow. He just can't, it would be so embarrassing.  
  
An arm around his waist, and Bucky is helping him walk. "Just a little further, that's it, lean on me, right this way." Steve is rushed through some doors into a warm, noisy, smoky room - some sort of cafe? He's too out of it to notice much, just trying to focus on his breathing. Steve can see patterns in the formica table in front of him as he sits in the booth, the plastic looking like real marble, almost. It feels smooth and cold against his fingers.  
  
"Here, drink this, pal." A cup of coffee is placed in front of him.  
  
With Bucky's anxious face across from him Steve manages a few steady sips of the warm liquid. He holds the cup tight, anchoring himself. Maybe it's his imagination, but he can already feel it helping.  
  
"So - tell me - 'bout this dame," says Steve.  
  
With Bucky's voice in his ears, he manages to finish the whole cup.  
  
  
  
**Epinephrine.**  
  
When Steve has an attack in the dance-hall, it's the second most mortifying experience of his life. (The first was being caught stealing candy from the top shelf by his mom when he was eight). It comes out of the blue. One moment he's fine, actually dancing with a partner for once. A redhead, Susan - Bucky's friend Betty had set him up with her. She's a little firecracker, just about equal in height to him but with so much energy packed into her tiny frame Steve's finding it hard to keep up. Laughing, he spins her one final time as the music comes to a close.  
  
"Not bad, Stevie!" she giggles. "Let's get something to drink?"  
  
Steve's trying to say sure thing what'll it be, when he realises he can't speak. Oh no. Please, no.  
  
Swallowing, he walks off the dance-floor on unsteady feet, grabbing at a chair at the nearest table. Steve falls into it and tries to breathe through his nose.  
  
"Hey, get your own table buddy, this one's taken!" says a voice to his left, but there are stars in Steve's vision and everything feels a bit distant. Susan's saying something, and he tries to tell her what's happening, but he can't speak at all. He falls out of the chair. Someone's grabbing Steve's shoulders, must be the guy from the table, and he's preparing himself to get punched in the face on top of everything else when Bucky appears. He must have explained things, or maybe squared up to the guy, because Steve sees his feet move away from his position on the floor.  
  
"Steve, can you hear me, pal? You look real bad," says Buck's voice. All Steve can do is grab Buck's arm. He doesn't even care what he must look like. This feels like the worst episode he's had so far.  
  
"Can I get a doctor here, please!" Bucky is yelling. "Is there a doctor in the house?"  
  
The next thing Steve is fully aware of is the sting of a needle in his arm. He winces but doesn't move away from it because Buck's hand is pressing against his shoulder, smoothing the cloth over it again and again.  
  
"Do like the doctor says and stay still for a moment, Steve, okay?" says Buck. "Let the drug work." It occurs to Steve that he might die here. His ears are ringing. How terrible would that be, to die in a dance-hall while the band is playing? A sudden wave of panic moves in Steve's chest and he sits up, gasping for breath.  
  
He's surrounded by people on every side - Buck's kneeling beside him, there's a guy with a black bag knelt in front and all sorts of folks just gathered around.  
  
"Hey, take it easy there, fella," says the guy kneeling in front. "That's right, you've just had a shot of epinephrine, might make you feel a little jumpy but it'll clear your airway right up. Good thing I was carrying my bag with me."  
  
Steve's voice is wheezy, but it makes it out of him okay now. "Thank you sir," he manages.  
  
"Yes, thank you," says Buck, shaking the guy's hand. The doctor. "Listen, we can repay - "  
  
The doctor shakes his head. "Don't worry about it." He's a handsome guy, blond, barely out of medical school it looks to Steve. Tall. Maybe Buck can be friends with him instead of Steve. He bets this guy never fell over like an idiot in a crowded dance hall. The doctor gives them all a blinding smile. "Nothing to see here, folks, show's over."  
  
The circle of people around them starts to disperse as Buck gives Steve a hand up. His heart feels like it's beating ten to the dozen in his chest. It makes Steve feel strange, panicky. "I'm sorry, Buck," he says as his friend helps him into a chair. Their dates sit down next to them at the table on the edge of the dancefloor, looking at him anxiously.  
  
"Don't worry about it, pal. You sit for a bit. Can I get you a drink?" Buck asks.  
  
Steve nods and Buck dives into the crowd around the bar for him. But the fluttering feeling in his chest isn't going away. When Buck gets back with a soda for him, Steve can't drink it. He barely takes in the conversation that starts up again between Bucky and the girls, even though he knows his pal is leaving openings for him to talk, too. Steve feels sick all of a sudden, real nauseous like he never usually gets. Then he vomits on Susan's shoes.  
  
"Oh God," says Steve, and then, "I'm sorry!" Susan's looking horrified. Some went on her new dress, the one she said she'd just finished hemming for tonight. Steve just wants the earth to swallow him up. Steve gets some napkins, tries to clean things up but his hands are shaking. Susan takes them from him and pats herself down awkwardly, raising an eyebrow at Betty.  
  
"I'm just going to - I think I should go," says Steve rapidly. "Sorry. I'm sorry."  
  
"Hey wait up!" Bucky's behind him as he walks out. "We'll go together."  
  
"You don't need to leave for me," says Steve, "I could just leave you here with the girls and, and that doctor fellow looks like a good dancer, you can be friends and I can just go and get back to the apartment on my own and wait up for you til you're ready to come by - "  
  
"Slow down." Buck's hand is a reassuring pressure against his shoulder. "I'm coming with you."  
  
"I'm sorry," says Steve. He starts shivering, and Buck takes a firmer hold of him.  
  
"Guys, what's happening?" Susan's followed them outside.  
  
"I'm taking Steve home, he's still not feeling well. I think that injection really did a number on him," Buck says.  
  
Susan's looking embarrassed, but it's nothing to how Steve's feeling. "Susan, I am so sorry," he says. "Guess I showed you a pretty lousy time, huh." Her shoes still have stains on them.  
  
"It's, uh, not the best date I've had," she admits, pressing his hand kindly. "But it was pretty good up until - well. Good luck, you know, getting your condition treated."  
  
"Thanks," says Steve, and watches as she walks back inside.  
  
"C'mon, let's get you home," says Buck, hailing a cab for them. Steve's still shaking so Bucky helps him into it, talking away about how the next time they go dancing is going to be a lot better.  
  
"Hard to beat this for worse," Steve manages.  
  
"Well, the dance-hall could burn down," says Bucky, deadpan, and they both crack up laughing.  
  
  
  
**Positive Psychology.**  
  
The next time it happens bad, he's in art class. Steve's read some new articles about asthma now and he decides to tough it out, try to get over his mental blocks. Asthma is supposed to be a neurosis, he's read. It's about something you're hung up on, mentally. If you can manage to think positive, the nervous attacks will go away.

Drawing class is the perfect time to try it out because Steve can just bend over his desk when it gets real bad and act like he's drawing. No-one has to know about it.  
  
It hurts. He's trying to think positive but he keeps getting distracted by the feeling of not being able to get a proper breath. You're supposed to think of a happy memory. Steve is trying to picture something, blue sky with a scatter of clouds. The massed windows of apartments lit up friendly in the evenings. His Mom's face. But he's starting to feel panicky when none of it's working. Shut up. Keep sketching, it'll be okay if you try harder.  
  
Steve breaks the tip of one of his pencils but can't bear the thought of trying to stand up and go to the sharpener while feeling like his throat's closing up - he must think positive. An image of Buck, laughing, comes into his mind suddenly. That's the sort of thing. Just happy thoughts. Steve is trying to breathe through his nose. He mentally traces the edge of Bucky's face with a sketching pencil, 4H, the thinnest possible for the outline.  
  
It feels like an elephant is sitting on Steve's chest, but he could draw Buck no matter what state he's in, even in his sleep. Steve knows the contours of his face by heart.  
  
Before he knows it, class is through for the day and his classmates are filtering out. Steve's still sitting at his desk trying to think positive. He feels winded, breaths dragging in his chest.  
  
"That doesn't look very finished - what have you been wasting your time on this afternoon?" asks his teacher sternly. "We aren't supposed to be focusing on the face today, or weren't you listening?" She leans over him.  
  
Steve shakes his head and tries to apologise, but nothing comes out. "Sorry - " he manages, and she softens.  
  
"Are you having that asthma again?" his teacher asks. "Why didn't you say anything?"  
  
"Didn't - wanna - disturb."  
  
The teacher, Mrs Cohen, shakes her head. "Next time, tell me and I'll get you a glass of water, hon. You don't have to suffer in silence." She fetches one for him now and he drinks it, very gradually. It actually seems to help more than the positive thinking did.  
  
Bucky normally waits for him outside but this evening he must have realised something's up and he comes into the classroom. Mrs Cohen nods to him as he tips his hat to her.  
  
"Ma'am. Steve, you ready to come home?" Bucky asks.  
  
"Sure - just - a minute," says Steve, wheezing as they make their way into the hall. He's still trying to think of something good, flowers, what it feels like to take the first bite of a crisp new apple. But it isn't helping.  
  
"Steve, you're having an attack again, aren't ya," says Bucky, stopping in his tracks. "What are you doing, you shouldn't just try and ignore it!" He sounds angry.  
  
"I've - been - trying all day," says Steve, gasping.  
  
"What for? You need to look after yourself," says Bucky, shaking Steve a little.  
  
"All - in my head," Steve says.  
  
Bucky shakes his head. "Steve, I know you're interested in that psychology stuff but I don't think that doctors in the newspapers are necessarily all they're cracked up to be," says Bucky seriously. "If this was all in your head you'd have licked it a long time back. You're the stubbornest guy I know, it's not like you wanna be an invalid."  
  
"Guess - you're right," says Steve. He feels like crying, almost. All that effort for nothing. "At least - I tried."  
  
"C'mon, let's get a cup of coffee in you," says Buck, leading the way to the nearest diner. "Next time, we can try something else."  
  
  
  
**Asthma Cigarettes.**  
  
Steve's been having wheezing fits which means it's as good a day as any to give them a try. The booklet says you're supposed to breathe out, inhale the smoke, hold it in for a long time and then exhale. Steve looks at them. They look expensive. Fancy packet, even come with their own little booklet all about asthma. It says asthma is caused by allergies, not psychology, and that you can help yourself by taking protective herbs into your lungs, like stramonium and tea leaves.  
  
"How much did you pay for these?" he asks Bucky, sternly. "We need to save up, not keep spending on things."  
  
"Oh, they're not too bad. Just give them a try," says Buck. "If they help with your asthma, it'll be worth it."  
  
Steve lights one up. It smells a little funny, not like a regular cigarette. Menthol, and sort of sweet under that. He's never been a big smoker, just bums one off Bucky occasionally, but if it's for his health maybe he can get a habit. "Well, here goes," he says, taking a big gulp of it.  
  
Steve coughs almost instantly, feeling the scented air hit the back of his throat in a wave. It doesn't taste like a regular cigarette, it's powerful and herbal. It's too much. He almost gags.  
  
"Take it easy, just try a few small drags to start with," suggests Bucky. "I guess you've gotta get used to them."  
  
Steve tries it, but it's still overpowering. He feels a little dizzy. "I don't know about this, Buck. It tastes weird."  
  
"Come on, give them a proper try. Hey, I'll have a regular cigarette for solidarity." Bucky lights one up.  
  
Steve diligently puffs away, trying not to notice the powerful taste. He wishes he could pause the cigarette's burning, it feels like half the smoke's drifting away without getting much use out of it while Steve tries to master the breathing technique. The smoke feels hot and scratchy inside his throat. It's not exactly a miracle relief.  
  
When the cigarette's done, Steve feels like he hardly managed any good puffs at all. His mouth is dry. He coughs. "I guess I'll try another one," Steve says, "I don't think I got it right this time."  
  
Bucky shrugs. "Second time's the charm, maybe."  
  
Steve double-checks, and the booklet says you can have up to eight in a 24 hour period. So he lights another.  
  
Partway through it he's decided the herbal taste isn't so bad now. The back of his throat feels a little numb. He relaxes back onto the pillows behind him, cosy.  
  
"Do you think it's helping any?" Buck furrows his brow. You could tuck a spoon in there, use it as a spoon-holder. Spoon-holder! Steve falls over on the bed laughing. Buck's looking puzzled, and it's the most adorable thing Steve's ever seen.  
  
"Hey Buck, Bucky, Buckster, Buckaroo," says Steve, then pauses, "I don't remember what I was gonna say."  
  
"You all right, Steve?" asks Bucky, sounding like his voice is coming from really close by, like right by Steve's ear. It must be by his ear, it tickles! Steve laughs again. What he wants most of all is if Bucky would just nibble on his ear a little. While he's there.  
  
"Y'can lick my ear anytime," says Steve, aware in some distant part of himself that he might be giving too much away.  
  
Bucky shifts awkwardly in his chair. "I'm not sure if those cigarettes are doing you any good," he says. Then he exclaims, "Hey, watch it! You're gonna burn a mark in the covers!" Bucky snatches the butt of the second asthma cigarette out of Steve's hand, where it had been dangling listlessly above their counterpane.  
  
"Sorry, Buck," says Steve. Guess he must have lost track of time. Which is funny because the clock's right above Bucky's shoulder. Getting bigger, actually. "Make the clock go away, I don't need it," he says, anxious as Bucky stubs out the asthma cigarette in their ashtray. "It's watching us."  
  
"Okay, I am officially cutting you off of these things," says Bucky, putting the rest of the pack away in the bureau drawer. He puts a hand over his eyes. "I just wish something would work for your asthma, Steve. I'm at my wit's end trying to work out what to do except move to Florida maybe."  
  
The clock's even bigger now but Steve tries to ignore it and focus on Bucky's words instead. "I don't need to move. I like New York."  
  
"I know you do, pal, but maybe it doesn't like you. All these long winters can't be good for your chest. If we went down south, maybe we could go ranching or, I don't know, we'd think of something."  
  
"You think they want an artist out there?" Steve asks lazily, tracing a spiral of smoke up to the ceiling with his fingers. "'M useless. I just wanna stay here with you, anyway. Don't send me away, Buck." The most cast-iron argument against this plan is that Steve can't get up right now. His legs have stopped working.  
  
"Steve, you're not listening to me properly," says Bucky. "We'd both go. National Geographic makes it sound real nice down there. Good for your chest. Look, you get some sleep and we can talk about it more when you're - yourself again." He examines the packet of the cigarettes closely and starts laughing quietly. "Whaddaya know, these have Mary Jane in them! No kidding!"  
  
"Mary Jane?" says Steve, sleepy. "Do we know her?"  
  
"You know, dumbo, marijuana. Plus something called 'deadly nightshade' which doesn't sound any too good to me. I don't know, this was a dumb idea." Bucky shakes his head. "Try to get some sleep, pal."  
  
"Okay. Don't go," says Steve, anxiously, as Bucky pulls the covers up over him. The clock's trying to slice up time. Steve turns away so he doesn't have to see the hands come together to snip off the end of another minute.  
  
"I'll be right here," says Bucky, lighting another regular cigarette and settling down in the chair across from him. "Don't worry."  
  
  
  
**Super Serum.**  
  
Walking out after the attack on the German base, Steve puts a hand to his side and stops, suddenly. Beside him, Bucky comes to attention. "Just breathe through it, okay? It's all right, Steve, we'll get you some help - "  
  
He stops when Steve looks at him and smiles widely. "Don't worry, Buck. I don't get those any more."  
  
Bucky scratches his head. "Oh, right. Huh. Guess that's another good side-effect." He raises an eyebrow. "Then what is it - are you hurt?"  
  
The bullet tumbles out of Steve's side after another painful squeeze. He holds it up for Buck to see. "It's okay. They just come right out of me now, after a little while."  
  
Bucky's eyes are wide in his head. "Super soldier, all right." He blows out a breath. "I guess you don't need me to look out for you any more, huh."  
  
Steve smiles. "We'll look out for each other. Just like we always do."  
  
After a moment, Buck smiles back. "Til the end of the line."

**Author's Note:**

> These are all asthma remedies that were common in the 1930s (well, except super-serum!). I have asthma myself and am fascinated by the history of the condition - asthma treatments go back centuries and some of them were seriously dodgy.
> 
> During the early years of the 20th century asthma was commonly thought to be a psychological condition. This is known as the 'nervous theory of asthma' and was an easy mistake to make - feeling anxious during an attack due to symptoms is hard to separate from the idea of anxiety or strong emotions causing the symptoms.
> 
> The asthma cigarettes Steve tries contain datura stramonium, a plant from the nightshade family. Asthma cigarettes were a widespread remedy for quite a while, and Marcel Proust wrote about them with enthusiasm. The cigarettes were available over the counter and could contain any number of other ingredients as well, such as tobacco and belladonna. Sometimes they did include cannabis. Overdoses would often cause hallucinations.  
> https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2844275/
> 
> Coffee may actually have a small positive effect as a bronchodilator, similar to today's theophylline. See https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0010864/


End file.
